The Burden of Intellect

The words “group project” were a death sentence.

When the teacher read out the names, a cold knot of dread formed in Suzuha’s stomach. Ramu, Kazuyoshi, Yuunosuke, Atsuto… and Suzuha. Four boys.

Her hands, hidden under her desk, clenched into fists, her knuckles turning white.

Just breathe, she told herself, the logical part of her brain fighting against the rising tide of panic. It is a mandatory assignment. Refusal is not an option. You just have to endure this.

“Hasegawa-san!” a friendly voice called out. It was Ramu, a sharp, intelligent boy with glasses, who was waving her over to a cluster of desks. “You’re with us!”

Kazuyoshi, a lanky boy with a permanent grin, gave her a clumsy salute. “Welcome to the team! I promise our collective brainpower is almost equal to half of yours!”

Suzuha gave a single, stiff nod and sat, pulling her chair as far from them as was socially acceptable. She was awkward, silent, her trauma from when she was eleven a high, invisible wall around her.

But they didn’t seem to notice or care. They just let her in, and for that, she was grudgingly grateful.

That gratitude evaporated over the next hour.

“Okay, so for the intro, I can tell a joke about the Prime Minister’s hair!” Kazuyoshi suggested, already laughing.

“We are not doing that,” Ramu said, “We need to focus on the quantitative easing policies of 2010.”

“What’s quantitative easing?” Atsuto asked.

“It’s when they print a bunch of money, right?” Yuunosuke offered. “My dad complains about it.”

They argued for twenty minutes over a single, basic principle Suzuha had mastered years ago for a middle school debate. The deadline is in 2 hours. Suzuha felt a familiar, tired ache growing behind her eyes. The system was inefficient. The project was on a trajectory for failure.

With a quiet, tired sigh that cut through their bickering, she spoke. “Can I have the laptop? I type fast…”

They all paused and gazed at her. She removed the old laptop from the desk and set it down in front of her without waiting for a response. She didn't want to give them orders. She simply became the central processing unit, the only one who could assemble their chaotic input into a coherent output.

“Kazuyoshi, right?” she said, her voice a calm, quiet command. “I think the joke is a bad idea, but the concept of making it relatable is good. Tell me the core of what your dad complains about.”

“Uh… that his yen is worth less every year?”

“I see.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard, typing. “Ramu. You mentioned the Bank of Japan’s official statements. Can you find me the three most important press releases from that year. Read me the key sentences.”

Ramu, surprised but relieved to have a clear directive, immediately started searching on her flip phone.

“Atsuto, Yuunosuke,” Suzuha continued, not looking up from the screen. “The primary thesis is that the policy had short-term benefits but long-term inflationary risks. Give me one real-world example for each. A company that was saved, and a common product that got more expensive perhaps…”

For the next forty-five minutes. She took their scattered ideas, their fragmented data, and their clumsy opinions, and she wove them together.

She wrote the code for the charts, she formulated the thesis, she built the entire presentation file, seamlessly integrating their feedback into a single, cohesive, and brilliant whole.

They got a 98. A near-perfect score.

As they stood outside the classroom, Kazuyoshi clapped her on the back. “Wow, Suzuha-san, you’re a genius,” he said, and the others muttered that they agreed.

Suzuha understood. It had been a collaborative effort. They were intimidated as well as appreciative. And she was alone with her perfect score, her only company, as they left, laughing and celebrating together.

.

.

.

A vicious and chaotic battle against a summoned dragon served as the final test. The beast looked at Ramu, now a paladin, whose shield shone with divine light. A berserker, Kazuyoshi swung a huge hammer in wild, forceful arcs.

As a swift rogue and a formidable fighter, respectively, Yuunosuke and Atsuto flanked the monster in a well-coordinated attack. 

They can do whatever they want cause their wounds were healed by Haruna. They were an invincible team.

And Suzuha… Suzuha was a burden, just standing there.

Her heart was aching as she stood at the back, holding a basic, unenchanted staff. Her mind was the weapon that had won them the battle in their modern world, but her intelligence was useless here. They could overcome any obstacle by brute force; they didn't need a strategist. 

Mana: null

Skill: none

No one needed her.

When the dragon finally fell, the grand hall was filled with the cheers of the Noston mages. A tall, majestic looking woman in ornate robes, Cisite, the witch of Noston, stepped forward.

“Well done, heroes,” she declared, “Ramu, Kazuyoshi, Yuunosuke, Atsuto, Haruna. You have passed the final trial. You have proven yourselves worthy.”

She then turned her cold, dismissive gaze to Suzuha. “You have not.”

“She did not pass the test,” Cisite continued, “Her power is negligible. Her skills are nonexistent. She is a liability for heroes.” He looked at the others.

“The five of you will be sent forth to aid our kingdom. She will remain here, to face the consequences of her failure.”

The implication was clear. Cisite already aiming her staff at Suzuha’s head.

“Wait!” Haruna cried out, rushing to Suzuha’s side. “You can’t! Suzuha-san is useful! She’s our strategist! She’s the one who helps us—”

“I don’t see her strategize at all,” Cisite interrupted coolly. “You clearly already had chemistry, able to communicate without saying anything, slaying the dragon easily.”

Haruna looks down, “T-That’s…”

“With ten mana and no skills, she will either die by our hand here, where it is clean, or she will die a slow, pathetic death at the hands of the world. The outcome is the same.”

She then looked at the four boys. “Do you disagree? Do you believe this… burden… is necessary for your continued success?”

Kazuyoshi, the clown, just shrugged, his earlier camaraderie gone. “We’re grateful for her help on the school projects, Hasegawa-san,” he said, not quite meeting her eye. “But… she’s right. We don’t really need a planner anymore.”

The other boys murmured in agreement. They didn't sound cruel. They just sounded… practical. They are strong now. They didn't need her.

The words were a dagger in Suzuha’s heart, a pain far worse than any monster’s claw. She had been their engine, their leader. Now, she was just dead weight. She understood. It was a cold, logical, and utterly heartbreaking truth.

“Haruna,” she said, her voice a quiet, broken whisper. She gently pushed her friend’s hand away. “It’s okay. Just… just leave me. I’m fine.” Her gaze was distant, her expression was one of profound, weary acceptance. “Maybe I wasn’t meant to live in this world, after all.”

“No! Suzuha, don’t say that!” Haruna sobbed, clutching at her, but two of the other Noston mages were already there, gently but firmly pulling her away. “Please!” she begged, her voice cracking as they dragged her towards the grand doors. “Don’t kill her! Please, don’t kill my friend!”

The heavy doors boomed shut, leaving Suzuha alone in the vast, silent hall with Cisite, the witch who was now her judge, jury, and executioner.

“Prepare to die…”

“Die?” Anna woke up slowly, with Maren hugging her.